


Epilogue on Waking

by Jaydeun



Series: Nests [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nesting, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 17:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20624822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydeun/pseuds/Jaydeun
Summary: What happens when nests collide...





	Epilogue on Waking

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue to Bower Birds, or Things that Nest (part 3/3)

Crowley awoke in his own bed. He knew it by the relative firm-to-soft ration—result of exactly the right number of springs and coils and whatever other magic they put into very, very expensive mattresses. He heaved a sigh, one eye opening to slit in some daylight. Yup. Bed. Plants. Shelf of books. Empty wine bottle—

He opened his other eye. _Shelf of books_. Well that wasn’t there before. _Where the hell am I?_ Crowley slid one hand crossways from his side. Satin sheets. Pillows. Comforter. Angel.

Aziraphale lay next to him. As in _right_ next to him. One of Crowley’s ankles crossed Aziraphale’s calf, and his forehead pressed against the soft skin of Aziraphale’s shoulder. Which also meant a certain amount of clothing had been dispensed with during the night. Crowley was very disappointed to have slept through that.

“Are you awake, dear?” Aziraphale asked. A morning voice. A waking up together voice. Crowley felt a thrill of static run down his spine.

“I think so.”

“Good, good.” Aziraphale had both hands folded over a scoop necked undershirt. “Is this your bed, by chance?”

Crowley peeled his eyes away from all that delicate pink skin and gave the situation a more thorough inspection. Was his bed. Was _not_ his flat.

“Seems like it?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded at the ceiling as though that clarified things considerably. “Do you know how it got here, by chance?”

Crowley was awake enough to realize how very wonderfully comfortable he was—but not so awake as to be embarrassed by sleep-miracling his bedroom furniture into the bookshop. So he just wriggled just slightly closer. Aziraphale opened his arm to provide room for Crowley to fit himself pleasantly into the crook. And because Crowley was a demon willing to take every opportunity, he nosed his way into the space between Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder. _So warm. _He smelled of apricot. And a bit fuzzy, too, downy hair that tickled Crowley’s upper lip.

“Wishful thinking, I s’pose?” he offered at last.

“I see,” Aziraphale hummed at him. “It’s rather too large for the space, though, don’t you think?”

He had a point. The edge of Crowley’s double king had shoved the sofa against the gramophone, and the gramophone against the bookshelf. And probably overturned at least one of the bower’s potted plant.

“Too big for the back room, too, by far,” Aziraphale went on, and Crowley realized _he was measuring for it_. 

“Oh. Oh, _yeah_. Much too big for downstairs,” he said, catching on.

“I do have a bedroom _upstairs_,” Aziraphale mused. Which was, in fact, news to Crowley.

“With a bed and ery’thing?” he asked.

“Yes, with a bed, you silly old thing.” Aziraphale shifted sideways to face him. Morning light had just slipped the shade, and now it played soft on his sleep-rumpled features. Crowley reached one hand to cradle his face, without even thinking. It was just as natural as sunshine.

“Time for an upgrade? Get a new model, maybe. One with—” Crowley raised his head to count—“nine pillows.”

“And Three comforters,” Aziraphale added with a laugh in his voice.

“And satin sheets, don’t forget.”

“Oh I wouldn’t dare,” Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair away from his face. “You are so very lovely in the morning, you know.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley protested (but not very much). “M’ma demon ya know.”

“Really? You look like a snake in a bird’s nest to me,” Aziraphale whispered, pulling him closer.

“Whatever you like, angel,” Crowley murmured against his lips. They had nowhere to go, after all. And all the time in the world.


End file.
